My hands on your body, my mouth hovering over yours—I’ll tell you everything you want to hear. Ten inches of real estate never felt so good.

But don’t take my word for it. My client list is long and my motto is short—one single thrust and you’re mine. I’m not good at what I do, I’m fantastic. But satisfaction doesn’t come cheap. So open your wallet and prepare to forget your name. I’m about to ruin you for any other man.

One single thrust and you’re mine.

Title: Thrust

Genre: Erotic Romance

Author: Sybil Bartel

Release Date: December 6, 2016

Excerpt

Incredibly tall, too many muscles and way too gorgeous to be real, the guy who’d tried to hit on me earlier lifted his eyebrows. “Was it something I said?”

His suit was custom, his attitude was one-hundred percent douche and his smile said he owned it. “You wish.” I looked back down at my phone.

“I don’t have to wish, gorgeous. I get what I want, always.”

I scrolled on my phone and ignored him. “Good for you.”

“Your boyfriend sexting you?”

I glanced up. Okay, he was hot as hell, I’d give him that. Piercing blue eyes, black hair, perfectly chiseled features, and he wore his suit and his attitude, it didn’t wear him. But I was spot-on with my earlier assessment. He was a total douche and I was done pretending to be polite. He wasn’t going to buy anything. He’d been too busy keeping his date’s hands off him to even look at any of the paintings. “Yeah, and if you don’t mind, I’d like a little privacy so I can get off.”

Brilliant and consuming, he smiled. It would’ve made my heart flutter if I went for his type, which I didn’t. Ever.

He tipped his drink at me then took a sip. “By all means, don’t let me stop you.” His shoulder hit the wall and he sank a hand into his pocket like he was settling in to watch a show.

“Shouldn’t you get back to your girlfriend?” The woman he’d walked in with looked twice his age, but hell, who was I to judge? Maybe he liked cougars.

“Not my girlfriend.” He took another sip.

“Good luck with that.” When his date hadn’t been pawing him, she’d been eye-fucking him. I took a step but he pushed off the wall and blocked me.

Using the hand that was holding his drink, he skimmed the backs of his fingers down the length of my arm. “Don’t you need to take care of something?” His lips curved mischievously as he looked pointedly between my legs, tipped the glass to his mouth and drew in a few ice cubes. His jaw shifted and the brilliant smile was back. “Or maybe you need me to cool you down.”

Oh my God. “Does that actually work for you?”

He ran his tongue over his top lip. “Does what work?” His voice was pure innocence but his narrowed, knowing eyes were all attitude.

“If you actually think a woman gets off on having ice shoved up her—whatever, I feel sorry for you.”

“I don’t think women like it, I know they do. And just so we’re clear, yes, you’d love it. Your body, my mouth and this glass of ice.” He shook the tumbler. “Five minutes and I’ll make you come. Twice.” He winked. “Guaranteed or your money back.”

Giveaway

About Sybil Bartel

I grew up in Northern California with my head in a book and my feet in the sand. I dreamt of becoming a painter but the heady scent of libraries with their shelves full of books drew me into the world of storytelling. I love the New Adult genre, but any story about a love so desperately wrong and impossibly beautiful makes me swoon.

I now live in Southern Florida and while I don’t get to read as much as I like, I still bury my toes in the sand. If I’m not writing or fighting to contain the banana plantation in my backyard, you can find me spending time with my handsomely tattooed husband, my brilliantly practical son and a mischievous miniature boxer…

But Seriously?

Here are ten things you probably really want to know about me.

I grew up a faculty brat. I can swear like a sailor. I love men in uniform. I hate being told what to do. I can do your taxes (but don’t ask). The Bird Market in Hong Kong freaks me out. My favorite word is desperate…or dirty, or both—I can’t decide. I have a thing for muscle cars. But never reply on me for driving directions, ever. And I have a new book boyfriend every week—don’t tell my husband.